


whole made of pieces

by bravest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, help what happened, this is really long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest/pseuds/bravest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dean drinks a little too much a little too often. it's not entirely the point. the point is dean and cas are really gay. there is drinking and kissing. and lots of fluff.</p>
<p>this is for zi, because headcanons.</p>
<p>also this hasn't been beta-read so if you find any mistakes feel free to point them out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	whole made of pieces

After Castiel's return Dean's drinking had slowed considerably. The angel's presence seemed to take a load off of Dean's shoulders, visible in his more relaxed stance, his ability to sit down with Cas to talk, and the way Sam would find them curled close together on the couch. Sometimes he felt like he was intruding on something and would leave them be; he knew they did nothing more than gaze into each other's eyes and touch each other's face, but witnessing those moments made him feel like watching two lovebirds unable to take their tongues out of each other's mouths. He guessed for them it was the equivalent of doing just that. Still, it was uncomfortable and terribly embarrassing to watch, so he didn't. Besides, he was glad to see Dean relax like that, even more so when he returned to the cabin to find Castiel's face in Dean's hand rather than an empty beer bottle.

It was a brief reprieve, however, and as soon as things started to pile on again (jobs tablets kevin prophets word of god demons crowley benny purgatory angels), Sam would come home to Dean and Castiel on opposite sides of the couch, an array of empty beer bottles on the coffee table. There was less cuddling and less whispering things only each other could hear, less chuckles from Dean as he laughed at something Cas said. This concerned Sam more than the drinking. He thought that would stay, at least, but the alcohol seemed to make Dean think he was too good for their little intimacy sessions.

It was upsetting, but Sam didn't know what to do about it, and it felt like none of his business. His concerns about Dean and Castiel's relationship (wherever it stood, at this point it didn't matter) would be ignored, Dean even less ready to listen to others when he was drunk and worn and tired and sick of everything.

Sam didn't have to worry for long. They were talking about a job, stuck in the crappy cabin, when he noticed Castiel's unsubtle moves. With every pause between their conversation he would shift closer to Dean, looking up at the ceiling when doing so, or at the muted television projecting it's flickering light in the gloom of the cabin. As if doing so made him invisible. It was endearing, and Dean was drunk enough not to notice. Or if he did, he made no sign of it, reaching over to open another beer as Castiel finally reached him, sitting as close as two people could without touching.

When Dean turned towards them again he jumped, startled by the proximity of Castiel's face. Sam pretended to be frowning at his laptop screen and reading some obscure website's page, but he was really watching them.

"When the hell did you get over here?"

"Just now, Dean," came the factual response. The man shrugged and Castiel gave Dean one of his tiny smiles.

"I think we should go in and ice the thing," Dean said, sipping his beer, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. 

"Dean, we're not even sure what it is yet," Sam said with a sigh, cursing how reckless and stupid Dean got when he was drinking. It was already hard to get him to think for a second before jumping into a fight when he was sober. He ran a hand through his long hair ( _gotta get a hair cut_ , he thought) and reached for a pile of notes and clippings he hadn't gone through yet.

In the meantime, Castiel was smiling at Dean in a way that was making him uncomfortable. Not because it wasn't nice, but because it was completely out of place at the moment. He scowled at the angel, but the smile didn't let up, so he rolled his eyes and sipped more of his beer.

He felt warm fingers on his and looked down to see Castiel gently prying the bottle from his grip.

"Hey, that's mine! Get your own," he protested, slapping at the offender with childish offense.

"No, Dean." The fingers tightened, but it was Castiel's tone that made him reluctantly let the bottle go. It was the kind that sent a chill down his spine and told him something was up. The kind you heard when the angel did not want to be messed with, thank you very much, and you better listen to him before he throws your ass right back to Hell. Literally.

Sam watched this in silence, stifling a smile when Castiel turned to him and beamed as he victoriously put the bottle down on the table, away from Dean. Sam hadn't thought that doing something victoriously was even possible until then.

He was immediately made uncomfortable again when Castiel leaned back on the couch and tilted his head curiously towards Dean, his arm up on the back of the couch. The tilt seemed to invite the other man, who looked back at him with his mouth set in a thin line. Dean seemed to mull it over, Castiel tilting his head again, eyes squinting, asking and inviting in silence. Dean gave him a wide eyed, who do you take me for look, shoulders tense, brow furrowed. This seemed to go on for a few minutes, the two of them communicating without saying a word, reading each other's body language like the back of their own hands. 

It was with a sigh and a grumble that Dean glared at Castiel before shifting and settling into the crook of his arm. He seemed to fit there perfectly, and the soft way Castiel looked down at him made Sam's stomach clench in weird ways. When Dean returned that look, with that glint in his eyes he reserved for the angel, he decided he needed to get out of here. The atmosphere in the cabin had changed, and he felt decidedly unwelcome.

"I'm out," he said, getting up to grab his coat. "I need some air, and I'll get us some dinner."

He waited for either of them to acknowledge this, which he realised was fruitless because they were lost in each other's eyes already, eyebrows and mouths shifting to convey secrets he'd never understand.

"Okay, yes, bye," he said with a dismissive wave, stepping out into the cold. He huffed, wondering if it was customary for humans to fall too when angels fell for them. He might stop at the library to look into the angel lore, actually, and see what he could find. Yeah, that sounded good.

Better than watching his brother and his not boyfriend stare at each other all night.

 

* * *

 

Dean was drunker than he looked. It was easy for him to look fine, to be mostly in control of his movements. His mind, though, was far from in control. He'd been stubborn about his decision not to give into that mushy cuddling crap with Castiel tonight, but the angel had broken him in with his goddamn blue eyes and that pleading look. Besides, he was chilly. Nevermind that there was a fire going and that the room was stuffed and overwarm. Dean Winchester was chilly and that excused his proximity to Castiel.

He vaguely heard Sam go, calling a "Later" after him. He couldn't look away, though, not when Castiel looked at him like that and made him feel like he  _mattered_ , like he was someone's world, like he wasn't a piece of trash. It made his insides stir and twist and tangle and he yearned for something he didn't understand and it was  _pathetic_ , that's what it was.

But when Cas turned and tilted his head and they were looking dead into each other's eyes and he could feel his breath against his lips he lost the ability to do anything else but sit here and bask in the warmth of Castiel's body around him. The world around them dimmed and there was nothing else but this, the angel's hand warm on his shoulder, fingers rubbing and sending little thrills of pleasure along his skin.

He reached to rub the side of his index finger along Castiel's light stubble, his eyes falling to his lips. They were so close that he would barely have to move to kiss him, their bodies pressed and curved towards each other. The air was warm between them, and when Castiel whispered "Hello, Dean," with a smile, his heart squeezed tight and he was torn between melting and feeling sickened by his own behavior. He was stroking Castiel's face, for god's sake, how disgustingly mushy could you get? He hated that stuff and yet craved and fed off of the little physical affection he recieved. Castiel had given him so much, progressively, starting off with hands on shoulders and on arms and ending in this, curled up together.

And here he was, looking at his lips and craving more. He always asked for more, didn't he? Castiel had already given up his entire life for Dean, he had no right to demand anything from his friend anymore. At the moment he was so filled with warmth at Castiel's presence in his life, at his never ending devotion and dedication and support, that all he wanted was to lean in and press his lips to his face.

Which he did, turning his face (the tip of his nose brushing against Castiel's cheek as he did so) so he could kiss his friend's temple, closing his eyes and letting the touch linger a while. His head buzzed with a thousand thoughts, mostly about them both being giant idiots, about how much Castiel had done for him and Sam, and how lost he was when he thought he'd lost him.

When Dean moved away he pressed his forehead against the side of Castiel's head, hand curling at the back of the angel's neck.

"I need another beer," he said, wishing these damn thoughts and feelings would go away. Because fuck, Dean Winchester was tired of feeling things. Everything would be so much easier if he could be numb to the pain of others, to the pain he'd inflicted to others, to the pain he'd inflicted to himself. But he wasn't, and every day was a reminder that he'd dedicated his life to this. He'd made a choice, and the choice had been his from the start. And he was getting on Sam's case for trying his shot at a real life again? He was a hypocrite, on top of the rest of the not so kind words he used to describe himself.

He just wished...well, Dean wished a lot of things, and the fact was that none of them were real, and this, Castiel's arm over his shoulders, his strange smell all up in his nose, that was real. One of the very few things that felt real to him, too, after Hell and Heaven and Purgatory.

"You're troubled," Castiel said. The cabin was so quiet that he barely needed to speak above a whisper.

"Tell me something I don't know. Don't really want to think about it, 'cause I'd rather drink and do whatever it is we do." His movement to sit up and reach for that beer was interrupted by a hand grasping his wrist and pushing him back down on the couch in one quick, practiced, and strong movement. His instincts, trained despite the haze of alcohol clouding his judgement, was to struggle and aim a well placed kick to his assailant's whatever-he-could-reach. In this case it resulted in Dean's shoe in Castiel's stomach, causing his friend to let out a breathless grunt.

"Shit, Cas! Sorry, man, but you gotta know better than to grab me like that!"

That kick might have hit bullseye, but Castiel hadn't let go of him and was now half hovering over him, arm outstretched to keep hold of Dean's wrist.

"I know. But I had to stop you," he said, and he was looking down at Dean with such concern that he seemed to melt under the gaze, relaxing on the couch, his hand slowly unclenching. Fuck, how could anyone look like that at anyone? He'd never seen it, never in his life had he seen someone look at someone else with such intensity, with eyes that were filled with a million thoughts, that conveyed both worry and love and affection and pain and loneliness. And it was directed at  _him_.

Did he look at Cas like that?

He swallowed roughly, feeling like a jagged rock was caught in his throat. It was dry, and itching for the smooth taste of alcohol, but a part of him knew Castiel was right. He didn't need to say anything, he'd seen how Sam looked at him whenever he drank, he'd replayed the nights he'd spent drunk and the way he'd been stupidly brash and agressive and distant.

If this had been anyone else, he would have felt trapped and cornered. He would have taken out his spikes, puffed up in righteous, misplaced self defence.

But it was Castiel, looking at him, begging him, to choose this instead of the drink again. He hadn't noticed the exact moment Castiel had ended up on top of him, but his back was pressed against the ratty arm rest of the couch, one of his legs hanging off the edge of the seat, planted on the floor while the other was folded at the knee. He wasn't sure where Castiel's own legs were, not with the long trench coat tangled up in there and the way they were still pressed close. He just knew a lot of Castiel was touching him, and he was touching a lot of Castiel.

A thumb began stroking at the underside of his exposed wrist. Blue eyes flickered down to lips, causing green ones to follow. Drunk dark thoughts buzzed in a mind while bright white light prevailed in another, and the fire crackled and popped.

This time there was no thinking about it.

 

* * *

 

Dean's lips were on him and they were soft and gentle and it was the kind of kiss that was just love and affection, stripped of the expectation for more. Had Castiel been human he would have fallen in love. As it was, he was not, and he'd fallen for Dean already, in more ways than one.

His thumb stilled, and slowly he pressed back, knowing that was the conventional response when someone you love kisses you and you don't want them to stop. Castiel didn't feel things like humans did, but he understood the meaning of a kiss, and he understood it's meaning here, now, from Dean, to him. He understood what a kiss like that meant from Dean Winchester, and letting it happen unreciprocated was probably a crime.

He tilted his head, moving his mouth so their half parted lips could fit together perfectly. Castiel didn't feel butterflies, didn't feel tingling down to his fingertips, but he felt Dean's affection for him more clearly than he'd ever had before. He was spelling it out to him directly, mouth to mouth. It couldn't be clearer than the hand moving to cup his face, fingers curling at his jaw, stroking the stubble there. He did feel, though, with astounding clarity, that they were a whole made of pieces.

Confused by the way his feelings and thoughts about Dean were swelling inside him (he was worried they would eat him up), he frowned into the kiss. Dean must have sensed it, because he pulled away, just enough to break it. Castiel's lips followed for a second, protesting the misunderstanding that brought the nice physical intimacy to it's abrupt end. But it was done, and he saw in Dean's eyes that it wouldn't happen again. It made no difference to him, because the way Dean chose to express how he felt had nothing to do with how much Castiel appreciated it.

He opened his mouth to speak, to explain what had caused his frown ( _I grew scared my affection for you would devour me_ ), but Dean swung an arm at him to shove him aside, sat up, and left for the bathroom without a word.

No matter how many times, how softly, or how pleadingly Castiel said Dean's name at the bathroom door, he got no response.

When he heard Sam turn the doorknob, he left. Sam would know something was wrong from the look on his face, and he did not want to drag Dean's brother into this.

So he left, even if his heart ached and his jaw hurt from being clenched so tight.

 

* * *

 

It took a few days for Dean to adress Castiel with more than grunts and three word sentences. The tension in the room when Castiel appeared was palpable, but the angel was either oblivious to it or chose to ignore it. Either way, he was stubborn and stuck around despite Dean's clear hints that he was not in the mood. 

It took a few days for Castiel to gather enough courage to tell Dean that they needed to talk. Now. In private, if possible (with an apologetic glance thrown at Sam).

It only took 5 seconds of a staring contest for Dean to answer with a rough "fine," heading right for the door. Castiel could tell this would be unpleasant. He hoped Dean was not misinterpreting him too badly. He didn't want their moments to end, despite Sam's looks and Dean's refusal to acknowledge them.

Dean is difficult, Cas thought, but it only made him cherish him more.

"Let's make this quick," Dean gritted out, shoulders squared and jaw clenched. Castiel took a second to read his body language and saw only that Dean was incredibly reluctant. Unsurprising.

"I believe there was a misunderstanding the other night," he began.

"Look, if this is about -- I know, okay? I -- " Dean interrupted, but shut up as soon as Castiel's eyes hardened into a glare.

"Let me finish."

Dean's eyebrows shot up and he puckered his lips, motioning for Castiel to go on with an open hand.

"I was not frowning because I disliked it. It was...nice. I was a little overwhelmed, that's all," he said with a small shrug. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings or mislead you, it was not my intention."

"Sorry if I -- Wait, are you serious, Cas?" 

"Of course. What makes you think I'm not?" Cas frowned, trying to read Dean, trying to understand. He might have misread the entire situation, and that made him...uncomfortable. He didn't like that thought, somehow. It was hard understanding emotion when you were only now starting to be aware of it in others and yourself.

Dean let out a sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck. Castiel watched him, as he always did, like someone that would later be tested on the details of what he'd seen.

"Look, dude. This has nothing to do with...with you hurting me or something like that, okay?" 

Castiel just looked at him curiously, waiting for an explanation. So he'd read the situation wrong, that wasn't new. But then what had caused Dean to feel like locking himself in the bathroom was the only option?

Dean clenched his jaw again and let out a rough exhale through his nose. It meant that whatever he was about to say next was difficult, was coming from inside the shell he built around himself.

"It has everything to do with me and my drinking crap," he spat out, and the disgust for himself he heard in Dean's voice made Castiel's heart clench. "I really don't understand what you're doing still standing here, because I would have ditched me days ago. I would have left myself in the dust without a damn care in the world, because what kind of fucking asshole takes advantage of an angel?"

"Dean..." Castiel's hand almost reached for him, but he left it at his side, his concern clear and open on his face.

"No, Cas, don't do that shit. None of your pleading looks and names, okay? I messed up, and I'm gonna mess up again, and whatever this," he paused, moving a hand between them. "Whatever this is, it's going to come crashing down because I ruin everything I touch."

"That's not true," he said, firm. "You haven't ruined me, Dean. You haven't ruined Sam. You've saved more people in a lifetime than most people up there," he pointed to the sky, squinting up, before dropping his hand and fixing his gaze on Dean's again. "You focus only on the ones that were lost, forgetting the ones that you saved."

Dean didn't answer, but his shoulders relaxed. It was a good sign, Castiel decided, and went on.

"I'm not sure I understand why this was a problem. You were displaying affection, which we have been doing for some time now."

"It's  _different_ , Cas, and you know it! Don't play dumb with me," Dean said, taking a step forward. They were standing close, and Castiel gave in and brought a hand to Dean's shoulder. He disliked the fact that he'd made Dean feel this way, when he saw only a man to dedicate his life to in Dean. "I was drunk off my ass and I kissed you, when I know you're not really into that stuff."

Castiel understood where Dean was coming from, but it seemed like such a small detail in the grand scheme of what was between them. He'd known right away that the kiss was not intended to be taken as an invitation for more. Dean was worrying too much, and for nothing.

"Dean. I don't care. You can express these things how you want, because I understand. I know what you meant by it, I'm not competely stupid. In fact, I am an expert in Dean Winchester matters," he added, and tapped Dean's nose with a finger. His friend scowled and blinked and moved his head away, but he saw the quirk of his lips. It made his own pull up in relief. "There's nothing to be upset about, my friend," He leaned in, kissing Dean's cheek, "See?"

Dean immediately took on his comic wide eyed, caught in the headlights look, looking everywhere but at Castiel, and the angel understood that he'd embarrassed him. It was...cute.

"There is no reason to feel bad. Maybe less alcohol intake would help prevent these sort of things, if that is what you want."

For a second he thought he'd angered Dean, but the tension in his face cleared in the blink of an eye, and he shoved at Castiel, playful.

"Okay, Dr. Phil, cool it on the alcohol, got it."

"My name is Castiel."

"Jackass."

"No, Castiel."

"Oh, just shut the fuck up and get inside, you ass. You're not even half as funny as you think you are," he said, but the grin on Dean's face as he held the door open for Castiel said otherwise.

The talk had been brief, but Castiel was relieved all the same. Things were okay, for now, and he thought they'd never be much better than okay for any of them, but Dean's arm slung over his shoulder told him that okay was good.

(One day, maybe, he'd be able to show Dean that he was a good man, and that he didn't need to relentlessly beat himself up like that.

One day.

Maybe.

He hoped.)

 


End file.
